Peril
by Kirishtu
Summary: The wheels of Fate turn, and one life changes so dramatically there may be no going back. In a quest to return to what she was, Akutha discovers that perhaps in being different, the world is very much the same. Pre-Cataclysm
1. Chapter 1

Originally posted on aff 2010-10-12 - 2011-05-20 (on-going/on hiatus)

One

The air was thick, blanketing the time-lost crater as densely as the vegetation blanketed the earth. It clung to her robes, which in turn clung to her towering form. The trip from Marshal's Refuge had taken longer than expected. The earth was crying out, and the local fauna had heard its call. Several times she was forced to seek shelter from a pack of ravesaurs on the move. But their movement was strange, not that of the hunt, rather the erratic flight of fear. The tar pits foamed. Surfaces once calm stormed in a rage that threatened to overtake the narrow paths that offered passage through the mire. Yes. The earth was calling to her children. A warning Akutha hoped would not be heeded too late.

The tauren stopped, kicking up wisps of ash as her hooves settled on the earth. The smothering humidity that had so labored her journey had melted to a blistering heat. The whole jungle had melted away. Strangling vines had given way to fading patches of thistled grasses, colossal trees no longer shrouding the land of the sun. The druid looked upon the smoldering clearing before her, ancient volcano rising up to meet her distant gaze. The waving air singed her raven fur as hoofbeats carried her onward.

The narrow trail wound lazily about the base of the volcano, zig-zagging towards the peak, suddenly finding itself in a hurry to reach the summit. An eerie calm had come about the mountain; no breeze blew to offer comfort in the heat. For good reason the wind itself feared the mountain. The peak had been transformed by its newest occupant. The lava pooled and flowed from a gaping maw of jagged black stone, the trademark den of the Black Flight.

Akutha stopped on a platforming ledge that led to a shallow cave and the gaping maw before her. Crimson eyes fell upon a mass by the lava's edge and the druid uttered a silent prayer to the Earth Mother. The half-eaten remains of a stegodon protruded from the bubbling pool. It was charred almost beyond the point of recognition yet the look of terror had not left the creature's face, as if it had been dragged, still alive, into its fiery tomb.

"A silent prayer to a silent god." The voice was a whisper spoken close to her ear yet turning to face the newcomer, she found only the mountain behind her. Feeling eyes upon her, an icy chill seized her body, forcing through her bones and clutching her heart. -As preservers of the great peace, we must strive to continually keep our minds clear and our hearts strong.- The words of Elder Turak echoed through her mind as she turned to face her observer.

The black dragon had materialized seemingly out of the waving air itself. Onyxian by design, it sat perched on the fangs of the fiery maw. Hind legs clutched the stone with massive talons, draping wings used to support the monstrous bulk in its dramatic, upright pose. Spike clubbed tail swayed lazily back and forth to gain further balance. One of the monstrous curved horns had been snapped off at the middle, the jagged stump the only reminder of a battle brutally won.

"The Earth Mother may be silent, but she needs not words to aid her children," Akutha's words came as distant as her gaze, kneeling to place her hand upon the scorched earth. "The heart tells us more than our ears could ever hear." Lifting her gaze to meet with the fiery stare of the dragon, she continued, "I have heard dragons offer prayers to their Aspects as we offer prayers to our gods, asking for strong bodies to carry them, and a sound mind to lead them forward."

"The black flight is dead, as are your gods. The Aspect flies no more."

"And yet you still cannot escape his shadow." The druid could feel a change in the demeanor of the beast, could feel his eyes spark with anger. "Azeroth grows closer to peril. As the brood of the Betrayer I am sure that you have heard the cries of the earth."

Powerful wings beat the still air, kicking up a choking cloud of dust and ash as the dragon hovered above the mountain. "Druid, do not speak so casually of the flight to me, nor of the wailing earth!" The mountain trembled. "I have relished in its screams for centuries as I personally added to its torment. The earth may call to you, but it bows before me!" Lava spurted violently from the stone jaws as the dragon roared. The mountain gave another fearful tremble at his call and the ground beneath the druid split and crumbled away.

A plume of smoke; a falcon's screech. Wings, not hooves, carried her from the wall of fire that rose from the fissure beneath her. Her flight was spastic. Lava burst from a new crevice before her at every turn. The only way out was up. Climbing higher to escape the labyrinth of flame, she lay open to the ebon talons that enclosed her from above. The dragon dove with prey locked in place. Moments before his body collided with the rocks below, massive wings snapped open and he kicked off the shattered ledge. The fluid motion crushed Akutha into the lava-forged stone and propelled her attacker swiftly back into the sky.

Soft smoke and jagged feathers blew away from the form of a Tauren laying still from the impact. A pale green light came over her, returning strength to her shattered form. The air was pierced by an enraged roar as the dragon saw his prey rise on unsteady legs. Crimson eyes grew clouded over in white as wisps of ivory haze flowed around her body. The air itself seemed to scream as it was torn apart by a shower of destruction from the heavens. Celestial spheres of arcane rained down upon the volcano and the dragon that called it home. They shredded the fragile membrane of soaring wings, pierced and pelted the obsidian hide. The dragon roared once more. His body arced and twisted in the air as he struggled to regain the lost wind. Great wings lying in tatters, his attempts were in vain. He collided first with the gaping fangs of the maw before sinking into the raging lava bed below.

Feeling an uneasy stillness overtake the mountain, Akutha lumbered her way back to the winding path. She knew this fight was not one she could win, but hopefully the earth had helped subdue the dragon long enough for her to seek the shelter of the jungle. The Earth Mother would prove to be unkind to her daughter that day.

The ground split once more beneath the druid's hooves as the summit gave one final quake. An amber light rose from the depths of the mountain and the ledge exploded in a spray of debris and molten earth. Sytherius emerged, lava dripping from his monstrous form as he bore down upon his prey for the final assault. Talons once more imprisoned her and compressed her, face-down against unforgiving stone. Crimson eyes clenched tightly. A scream of agony escaped her lips as she felt the molten earth on the dragon's claws burn into her flesh and set the leather of her robes ablaze. Massive thorned vines sprung from the stone around her hands and wrapped around the form of the half-submerged dragon. They tried in a desperate struggle to force him off of her but they too were merely set ablaze. Her fur was next to ignite.

Pain; unimaginable torment. The sounds of her own screaming faded away to silence. Billowing clouds rolled across the once clear sky. Rain began to fall as her vision faded to black. The mountain was still once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

Several pairs of eyes turned to the faraway volcano, still watching it warily. Each was wondering the same thing – would the volcano begin to unleash its wrath again or was it finally calm? This group hadn't been witness to the fierce battle that had taken place, instead feeling the aftermath and left wondering what exactly had happened. The group of trolls, orc, and blood elves kept a careful distance during the rumbling, crouching by the river that coursed through the west side of Un'Goro Crater, close to the Lakkari Tar Pits. Several huddled over a wrapped bundle the size of a corpse, as if to protect it from whatever perceived danger there might be. Finally, one troll rose from his crouch and said, "De spirits seem to have calmed down."

It was a long moment before more voices added to his sentiment, and the trolls lifted their wrapped bundle, handling it with the utmost care. They had come down from Marshall's Refuge, having stayed there only a day after escaping the unforgiving desolation of Silithus. The foray there had cost them greatly, their group's numbers now only half of what it had been. And of the dead, they had only managed to bring back one for a proper burial. The losses weighed heavy on all their minds, and the wrath of the volcano had made the shamanistic trolls worry even more. They slowly began to move forward, eyes ever seeking danger, those not carrying the wrapped body arrayed to better protect those that were.

One young troll stayed close to the middle of the procession, not carrying the body but close enough. His eyes flicked to that wrapped body and stared for a few minutes before he averted his gaze. He stared at the ground, pretending his eyes weren't threatening to water with tears. He'd held back this far; he could hold on just a little longer. A slender hand gripped his forearm, and Jonkeji looked down at the slender blood elf beside him. "I be fine, Arae." Jonkeji assured the elf.

"You look like you need to scream," she replied. The paladin glanced up at the troll's face and offered him a little smile. "You did everything you could. Zanjiri knows that. She knows that you're also bringing her home."

"I failed her." The young shaman glanced at the linen-wrapped corpse. The memory was so fresh in his mind it was like it'd happened hours ago. Jonkeji and Zanjiri had been caught away from the group by the silithids that roamed Silithus. Between the two of them, and the rest of the group that soon came to their aid, they should have been able to defeat the creatures attacking them. One lucky silithid had managed to slip around Jonkeji's defenses, and Zanjiri had taken the brunt of the attack to save him. Jonkeji could still hear her screams as the silithid's mandibles sank into her vulnerable flesh. It had taken Arae and several others to pull him off his younger sister's corpse, and convince him to stop trying to heal her.

Arae patted his arm. "You did all you could. She wouldn't want you to be like this, you know. She knew full well what she was doing. Growing up, you protected her. It was her turn to protect you."

"I shoulda been more aware. Shoulda been able t'see. What good am I if I be unable to protect me own?"

"Don't think like that. You're good at what you do." Arae picked up her pace then and left Jonkeji alone.

The shaman shook his head and looked toward the volcano, staring at the plumes of smoke that still rose above its misty peak. The wind blew the heat toward the group, and Jonkeji took a deep breath. He scented many things – plants, animals, smoke – but something stood out among those scents. It was heady, sweet, like flowers that grew in the hills of Mulgore. Jonkeji felt it then, a tug on his very soul. The spirits were sending him a message, he was sure. Slowly, Jonkeji separated from the group, ignoring the calls of Arae and others. He heard howling, a fierce pain that wouldn't be healed. The spirits were telling him something, but their voices were garbled, far away, and Jonkeji couldn't make heads or tails of what they were telling him.

He came upon the devastation first.

Great wounds were opened up in the earth, smoking and filled with molten earth. In other places, plants had sprung up, their growth far too rapid to be natural. Craters littered stone and earth alike, shallow in some areas, deeper in others. Jonkeji found blood then, dried but still fresh, and following the blood, he found broken and chipped scales. He swallowed and kept moving forward. He noted the devastation with amazement, wondering how anything could survive an assault like this.

He froze when he found it, a bloody mass of burned flesh, almost unrecognizable. The young shaman knelt beside what was once a Tauren and looked back at his companions, hearing their gasps and voices rising in disbelief. The white of Zanjiri's wrapping stood out against the smoke, and Jonkeji prayed to the spirits for guidance, for he knew what he must do in that moment but didn't have the will to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

Kalshiik was the last to come across the battlefield. She had trailed behind the group ever since the spirits called her sister from the world. Eyes that matched the orange of the sun were filled with its fire as they rested on Jonkeji. Little brother. How she wished it was his body the procession carried and not that of their sister.

As if the others of the group had sensed the storm brewing in her mind, they left her alone, keeping their distance from the hunter and their guard around their precious cargo. Even Kishraak, her ivory warp-stalker, left her to her fuming. His form slipped from the shadows beside Jonkeji, nudging his wedge-shaped head against the shaman's side with a subtle croon.

She came to a stop beside her brother, refusing to acknowledge him or her once faithful companion. The death of unknown fighters was nothing new to the aged troll. The single body of a tauren shied in comparison to the villages she and the others had come across, burned to the ground by Alliance incursions into Horde lands. While the others rapt themselves in the remains of the tauren and the scarred mountainside, fiery eyes darted from detail to detail. The hunter mindset had taken over, momentarily banking the ireful flames and instead working to piece together what had happened on the mountain that day.

Scales. Black scales. Dragons? No. Just one. A big one. Big enough to move the mountain.

Craters, a lot of them. The charred vines revealed to her the tauren's class, yet the sheer amount of destruction puzzled Kalshiik. The devistated state of the summit had wiped clear any indicators that the druid had been alone, or accompanied by a group, at the time of death. The lone corpse suggested it had been a solo last stand, yet the others could have meerly been lost in the scars of the suffering earth.

Mail guarded shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. The mountain wasn't about to reveal its secrets to her. Perhaps the others would have more luck with the spirits. The hunter's gaze once more fell on her brother. "Well?" She growled. "What are da spirits sayin', brudda?" Her tone mocked him; her eyes revealed distaste. "Or be dey still refusin' to speak with ye?"

Jonkeji wished he could take back the wince that came with his sister's harsh words. But it had been done, and he knew that she'd noticed him. Even he knew she was angry, angry that he'd let Zanjiri die, that it should've been him and not their youngest sister. He wished he could meet Kalshiik's gaze as he stared at the corpse of the Tauren, because he knew exactly what she would say. She would refuse, he knew, and he wanted to refuse as badly as she. But he knew the spirits demanded the sacrifice of one to save the life of another.

Zanjiri would've understood. But how to tell Kalshiik, Jonkeji wondered. Better just to do it and deal with the consequences later.

"Bring my sistah here." Jonkeji said, aware of the sharp look Kalshiik gave him.

"What be ya doin'?" Kalshiik growled, moving as though to stop those carrying the wrapped body of Zanjiri. Kalshiik was taken aback a moment by the suddenly fierce look in Jonkeji's eyes.

"I be savin' de life of one not yet passed." Jonkeji replied, hearing the anger/hurt/venom in his own voice. "De spirits tell me what to do, sistah, not you." To the carriers, he gestured for them to set the body of Zanjiri on the ground beside the unrecognizable mass of Tauren.

Kalshiik's breath left her in an angry woosh. "Ye be defilin' our sistah! What be ya thinkin' Jonkeji?"

"I be thinkin' I do what the spirits tell me. Shut up, Kalshiik."

The huntress stared open-mouthed at her younger brother, but she didn't make a move to stop him as he unwrapped the white linen from around Zanjiri's body. Jonkeji was upset by the spirits' request, but he couldn't deny them. They'd called Zanjiri away for a reason, and if this was the reason, so be it. One life for another. Traded, however unwilling.

Jonkeji took a deep breath and began his ritual, calling out to the spirits to aid him as he called back one, and only one, lost soul. He anointed Zanjiri's body with herbs and crushed powders, working as slowly as he dared. He wasn't sure what kind of trauma the Tauren's spirit had endured during its time wandering lost, and the shock it would endure upon re-entering the world of the living would no doubt make it want to flee back into the world of the dead. He ignored Kalshiik's burning glare, ignored the way the others in their group stared at him.

"Come back, lost spirit o' de Tauren. Come back, an' live again." Jonkeji whispered so low that Kalshiik almost didn't hear him. She looked away, unable to watch what was once her sister become something different. She also didn't miss the way Jonkeji's voice trembled.

Jonkeji watched his sister's body, watched the pale skin start to colour as a called spirit began to fill the flesh. He watched as eyes flitted under the closed lids, as fingers twitched, reconnecting to synapses and nerves long dormant. He thanked the spirits silently, for granting his request, and he shifted, leaning over the body of Zanjiri.

Akutha opened her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Air rushed to fill starving lungs only to be released as a blood-curdling scream. Her back arched painfully, legs kicking to life in a spasm. Eyes stared unseeing as the screams continued. Akutha's spirit was frightened, lashing out. Dragged back to the place of release, it remembered only agony it had endured, could still feel the blistering of flesh and the snap of bones beneath the dragon's claws.

Kalshiik closed her eyes, trying to block out the screams that reminded her so much of that day. They tore away at her heart until she could take it no longer. Reaching for her blade to put an end to her brother's atrocities, a firm hand about her wrist stopped her. Eyes ignited as she turned to stare down the one who dared stop her, but the fires subsided as they fell upon the face of her mate. The orc stood silent beside her, his amber gaze telling her more than his words ever could.

Jonkeji's whole body shook. The cries of the tormented spirit echoed loudest in his heart. So much pain. Was this how his sister's spirit roamed the realm of the dead? No. Zanjiri was at peace, he had to keep telling himself that to keep what shreds of control he had left. He placed a quivering hand on Zanjiri's forehead as if desperately attempting to calm the soul he had been called to return. "De misery you faced in the end be over," his voice cracked and faded. "You be safe now." The shaman knew he was pleading, begging the screams to stop, for his own soul as much as for the druid's.

She heard his words, felt the comforting touch of a trembling hand. At long last the agonizing cries faded to the shallow rise and fall of labored breath. Her muscles relaxed and the spirit lay at peace in its new host. Blood rose to color the white of the bandages at her waist and shoulder, the scars of the silithid having been reopened by the spirit's struggle. Coral eyes softened and focused on the blurred form hovering above her. "Owachi." the single Taur-ahe word faded from weakened lips as her mind slipped from the waking world into the world of dreams. Owachi. Thank you.

The flames of a raging fire sent shadows dancing across the tents of the hastily prepared camp. Returning to Marshal's Refuge had proven out of the question now that wounds had reopened that had proven to be fatal once already. With dusk fast approaching, and the energy of the group beginning to fade, sitting out the night seemed the best option.

"E'chuta-murka!" The huntress' voice snapped through the stillness of the night. She paced about the door of the tent she and her mate shared, fingers twisting as if rending flesh only they could touch.

The orc's travel-warn face twisted in a grin as he listened to her Zandali ranting. "You talk too much," he muttered, enjoying the flare in her temper as he removed the tunic from his massive form. He sat, slouched and cross-legged, on their sleeping furs. The fire outside sent dim light through the thin cover of the tent, falling upon his bare chest and arms, highlighting muscles and scars alike proudly earned through rigorous battle.

"Don't ya be startin' wit' me!" Eyes flared and her pacing grew more rapid. "Loa Bwonsamdi come down upon him for desecratin' our once proud sistah and on you fo' stoppin' me! Or grant me de strength to come down upon ya both meself!"

She knew Jonkeji sat alone with that unconscious... thing... in the tent next to theirs, that he could hear her every word. That knowledge only served to strengthen her voice and free her tongue.

Jonkeji winced with each verbal knife that Kalshiik used on him. She didn't understand, he told himself. She would never understand. He shuddered, felt his eyes begin to burn. He stared at the sleeping Zanjiri – then reminded himself that this wasn't Zanjiri anymore. She was someone else, a Tauren, and he couldn't afford to think of her as Zanjiri.

It would make his heart hurt even more than it already was.

He wanted to yell at Kalshiik, to scream at her that this wasn't his fault, that what had happened wasn't his fault. But it was. He knew it was. Because if it hadn't been for him, Zanjiri would still be alive. If he could give his life to have Zanjiri back, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Kalshiik wouldn't have to deal with him any longer, wouldn't have to look at him any longer and see what had been lost because of him.

Jonkeji shook his head as if that would dispel the thought. He clenched his fists on his knees and closed his eyes tight. Tears still slid down his blue-green face, and he fought so hard to keep from making any sounds. If Kalshiik heard him crying, she'd only have more of a reason to keep on with her verbal torture. His entire body shook, and he finally released the pent up frustration, self-hatred, and self-loathing that had been bothering him all day long.

A warm hand rested against his cheek. Jonkeji opened his eyes to stare at Zanjiri, and fought the urge to throw his arms around her, to hug her tight and never let her go. But he didn't move, staring up at the Tauren who now wore his sister's form.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I be so sorry for what I condemn you to."

Zanjiri gave him a confused look. Jonkeji felt despair even more then, staring at the Tauren in hopes she'd understand. She drew back and looked down at the hand she'd placed on Jonkeji's face. Jonkeji watched her eyes travel from her hand, up her arm, all over her entire new form. Jonkeji looked away, not wanting to see the loathing in her eyes. "I be so sorry," Jonkeji whispered again.

The Tauren clenched her fist, and looked back at the young shaman. "What have you done?"


End file.
